


loud

by lessix (scrxamitout)



Category: Six - Marlow/Moss
Genre: Art AU, F/F, Originally Posted on Tumblr, artist!Anne, model!Catherine, really short fic!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22375405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrxamitout/pseuds/lessix
Summary: Anne Boleyn wasn’t exactly an artist.orAnne paints and Parr is a model
Relationships: Anne Boleyn/Catherine Parr
Comments: 3
Kudos: 87





	loud

**Author's Note:**

> this is a really short fic for a prompt on tumblr
> 
> tw: nudism

Anne Boleyn wasn’t exactly an artist.

Since she was a kid, she loved drawing. After giving her mother headaches after being a chaotic child, she discovered the only way she would keep quiet was with paper and a pencil. Or a pen. Or whatever thing she could find.

(In a good day it was going to be pencils and papers.

In the not so bright ones, it was the walls.

One time it was George.)

It was really relaxing, a way to express herself without having to be so _loud_.

Growing up, people always hated when she was being loud. Her teachers would call her parents. Her father would tell her to stop talking. Her mother told her she was prettier with her mouth closed. Her classmates would say she was too much. Too tall, too outspoken, too flamboyant.

Her first and only boyfriend at first compliment her for that. Henry told her she was so opinionated, so attractive, so passionate. But when she refused to have sex with him it all was turned about how she was an attention seeker, that nobody wanted someone who was just words and no action.

The only thing that nobody cared if it was too vibrant, colorful, political or _loud_ , was her art. Art wasn’t supposed to be plain, basic and simple like everyone wanted her to be. Art was an escape of it all.

Anne wasn’t exactly an artist, but she loved painting and drawing.

That’s why she was taking that course in a little art boutique just two blocks away from her apartment. It was not academical, so there was no pressure to be good or reach someone’s standard. It was about learning, trying new techniques, connect with other ways to draw and paint.

Every Thursday after her last college class, Anne would go.

(…)

“For everyone over eighteen, this Friday we will be bringing a model. She’s not professional, but she offered to help us. You need to be over eighteen because she will be nude and we don’t want to get into any trouble with anyone underage and their parents. Take your things and see you this Friday or next week.” The professor (if you could call her that) said.

Someone passed a paper to Anne. It was the list for who wanted to go.

She knew she was going to meet up with Katherine as they always did, but maybe she could squeeze it in. Just go after half of the class.

She signed with her name and age and left the class.

(…)

For Anne, coming into the art boutique making a lot of noise was something normal, that’s why she always arrived at least five minutes before the rest of the class. She loved seating in front of everyone, exercise her hands, make some sketches and then start working on whatever they were doing that day.

This time she really couldn’t make it in time. The whole room stared as her as she put down her things.

_So loud._

Once she is seated, everyone returns to their tasks. Anne sitting in the back of it, but still with a great view. She doesn’t pay attention to the woman in the center until she has all her acrylics out of the bag.

Her heart skips a beat.

The woman in the center is just gorgeous. Her skin looks warm and silky, her figure is just like one Anne could swear she saw once in Rome on an Aphrodite sculpture. Still, the woman doesn’t look like an Aphrodite. Her hair is up in a curly mess that just has so much dynamism to it. Her chest moves swiftly while she breathes.

Anne is so enchanted that she doesn’t realize how her hands are moving. She also doesn’t realize that she is just using her fingers, and that she didn’t made a previous sketch. It’s just curves she tries to memorize and recreate.

She doesn’t realize she is only painting in blue and white until the end of the class, when her hands are straight out of the movie Avatar. Boleyn goes to the bathroom, washes as much paint as she can and text Kat that she is so sorry but lost track of the time and that she will be there as soon as she can.

When she goes out again there is a woman looking at her painting.

She gets closer, and the woman, the woman in the center, smiles gently at her.

“This is yours, right?” Anne nods, air out of her lungs. “I’m Catherine, nice to meet you.”

The woman extends a hand, which Anne takes in a second.

“Anne.”

“Well Anne, this is really good.” She lets the other girl’s hand go.

“Thank you.” She mutters.

“Let me help you.”

Catherine starts closing open cans while Anne grabs her draw and puts it into the bag, carefully it is not fresh enough to get smuggled. Then she saves the cans, lastly taking any other thing she just left there.

“You are gorgeous.” Anne says suddenly, heart pumping in her chest.

“Really?” the woman laughs. “You are gorgeous too.”

“Can I have your Instagram handle? Or your number?”

_Ah, yes, love in millennial times._

(…)

When Catherine Parr gets home, she has two new followers and a text.

The first account is _@annboleynn_ full of photos in a hundred different places. Each one of them different, doing faces, with friends, family, some of them just things she considered funny. Still a lot of photos.

The second account is not precisely like that.

 _@nnbln___ is a lot of white backgrounds and figures. There are also some sketches. Touches of color everywhere but not as overwhelming. Anne Boleyn results to be really talented and original. Her way to draw just has a movement, a way to speak about how she sees her world.

And maybe that’s it about her. Maybe she is just as vibrant as her paints.

(…)

**_[10:34PM] Anne:_ ** _Hi, I’m Anne from art class. The one who asked for your number._

**_[11.21PM] Catherine with a C:_ ** _Hi Anne._

(…)

They end up deciding to grab coffee sometime. Sometimes ends up being Monday afternoon, and for Anne coffee is a cup of tea.

They talk a lot, and for Anne is so easy to just keep talking as _loud_ as she always does. Cathy is rather quiet, doesn’t say much, just nods or giggles. She is calm and chill, while Anne moves her hands a lot, and laughs noisy. They are the opposite from one another, but when they talk, they discover they think the same. Catherine is a journalist major, while Anne is a political one.

It was not often Boleyn found someone with whom she could talk about the different feminism theories, or the best way to deal with third countries economies, or new social plans that should be implemented since we are definitely not in the sixteen century. But Cathy gets it.

(…)

It’s on the third day Anne brings it up.

“I’m sorry for being loud.”

“Why?”

“I know it’s uncomfortable and people always stare at me, I really didn’t mean to do it but-“

“No” Catherine stops her. “I was asking why were you sorry. I like you being loud. People loose to much time thinking and planning and controlling what they are going to say. Just creating images of people, they not really are. I like you being unapologetically you. Maybe because I like you.”

Anne kisses her in a second.

(…)

Maybe Catherine Parr was art. But another kind of art. For Anne art was like her, loud and opinionated. Unapologetically her. But Catherine, quiet, relaxed Catherine was also art. In a way that without talking, she could make Anne feel loud inside. Feel that intense feeling of pure passion.

Catherine Parr was like a blue messy painting in a Friday night. Not planned, incredibly beautiful, calm and dynamic at the same time.

And Anne was in love with her.

(And her love was _loud._ )

**Author's Note:**

> come and say hi on tumblr!


End file.
